PM - 11

After spending the night with the Chancellor, Fú Wēi finally summoned Nie Lingjun. The imperial decree arrived at the Chancellor’s residence, granting permission for his carriage to enter the Eastern Palace directly without requiring him to disembark and walk.

The open space before Zhangde Hall was vast, and when the side gates were closed, it became an isolated area. Standing beneath the eaves, Fú Wēi gazed into the distance. Without horses or drivers, the lone carriage sitting in the middle of the empty expanse looked desolate and forlorn.

Seeing that the young emperor neither moved nor spoke, Jiànyè gently reminded her, “Your Majesty, he has arrived.”

She remained silent, imagining how the person inside the carriage must be overwhelmed by a sense of aimlessness. That was precisely what she wanted him to feel. Once he entered the palace gates, his life as a human being would effectively end. His resolve had been firm the other day, but after enduring loneliness and uncertainty, would he still hold fast to his decision?

She waved her hand, dismissing the attendants. The grand hall transformed into an actual cage, its silence unnerving. Under the blazing sun, a figure sat by the intricate latticed windows, his silhouette upright and devoid of any feminine softness. She couldn’t help but laugh. On the day of the enthronement ceremony, after the officiant read the proclamation, the empress would be required to receive homage from all officials. Could someone like him truly escape the sharp eyes of the entire court?

Lifting her ceremonial skirt, she descended the steps. Years of training had honed her gait into one of composure, though even she sometimes found it tiresome. Arriving at the carriage, she remained silent, circling it slowly twice. The person inside displayed remarkable patience, not even offering her a greeting or bow. It was as if they inhabited two separate worlds—one standing under the bright sky, the other hidden deep within the shadows.

After a long pause, Fú Wēi finally asked, “Do you feel it?”

The voice from within the carriage sounded respectful and measured. “This humble servant feels Your Majesty’s helplessness.”

Helplessness? Upon hearing this, Fú Wēi realized that her current state of mind was indeed one of helplessness.

Standing by the carriage, she gazed at the distant sky, her hands clasped behind her back. “This palace may not be what you imagine. The life of an emperor holds no joy. I have lived here alone for ten years. When I first moved into Zhangde Hall, I was terrified—afraid my position on the throne would collapse, afraid I’d wake up one day with my head separated from my body... The secrets behind every ruler in my lineage are the greatest trap of the past sixty years of the Great Yin dynasty. Lying is dangerous because once you start, you must weave more lies to maintain and fortify it...” She looked at him through the carved window. “You are about to become part of this lie. Are you truly willing?”

The person inside the carriage showed no hesitation. “I am loyal to the Great Yin and, more importantly, to Your Majesty. From now on, Your Majesty need not fear. I will stay by your side and protect you with my life.”

Fú Wēi felt a flicker of emotion. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. Still, she waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t need anyone’s protection. If heaven wants me alive, then I owe nothing to anyone. I summoned you today to show you this palace. Once you step inside, luxurious food and clothing are guaranteed, but you will lose your freedom. You might never leave again. Are you not afraid?”

The bamboo curtain hanging from the carriage lifted halfway, revealing slender fingers gripping the bamboo slats. Behind the curtain, half of a beautiful face emerged from the shadows of the carriage canopy. He said, “Your Majesty is too pessimistic. A cage is something one builds for oneself. No one in this world can truly confine you. I came here to save Your Majesty from this predicament. You only think of the empire and neglect yourself. This is not good.”

She lowered her head, pondering. “I know it’s not good, but what can I do about it?” Then, recovering her tone, she laughed. “You’re still young and don’t understand how treacherous people’s hearts can be. Once you ascend to a high position, you lose control over your own fate. Escaping from it is nearly impossible.”

The person inside the carriage attempted to step down, but she stopped him. “Let’s continue speaking like this. If you become empress, this will be your reality. Think carefully.”

Nie Lingjun remained silent for a long time before finally saying, “May I ask Your Majesty for a favor?”

Exchanging lifelong freedom for a single favor—it seemed like a great deal for Fú Wēi. She nodded. “Speak, young master.”

He sat upright, lowering his gaze. “Once I enter Changqiu Palace, I will cease seeing others after the winter solstice. Please wait three years. After that, I shall serve as Commander of the Imperial Guard, always by Your Majesty’s side.”

Fú Wēi was momentarily stunned. Fulfilling this request wouldn’t be easy. If the empress became Commander of the Imperial Guard, wouldn’t there always be a risk of exposure? But refusing seemed unreasonable. After all, men weren’t like women; being confined to the palace for life could lead to their untimely demise.

Frowning, she toyed with the jade ornament in her palm, considering carefully before replying, “Young master, you know my circumstances, so I won’t hide them from you. I do intend to use you to get through this difficult period. As for after the enthronement, if you wish to leave, I can arrange a grand funeral for you, allowing you to roam freely across the world. If you prefer to enter officialdom, I can also arrange a position for you under the pretext of the empress’s maternal family. What do you think?”

In the dim light, his eyes carried a faint smile. “No,” he replied. “I will remain by Your Majesty’s side, forever loyal to you.”

So, once the formalities were completed, did he truly intend to become her husband? Though in three years, he would undoubtedly astonish the world, she had no plans to reveal her intentions. This absurd wedding was merely for show—a political necessity, just like her plan to crown a woman as empress.

Fú Wēi conceded slightly. “You cannot stay in the capital. Go instead to the Western Regions Protectorate. I’ll appoint you as Deputy Commander, with a salary equivalent to two thousand shi . You may marry and have children, living a normal life.”

He didn’t seem fond of bargaining and ceased arguing, calmly meeting her gaze.

Fú Wēi had always thought the Chancellor was difficult to deal with, but now she realized that those from his household were equally formidable. The more challenging they were, the more cautious she needed to be. In her position, she never trusted anyone easily. Those recommended by the Chancellor naturally aligned with him. If she truly became a couple with this male empress, wouldn’t she end up losing both dignity and advantage?

“Last night, the Chancellor stayed overnight in Zhangde Hall. Did you know?” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “The entanglement between me and the Chancellor cannot be explained in a few words. He insists I crown you as empress, but in my heart... the one I truly desire is him. Therefore, even if we perform the grand ceremony, you must not take it seriously. Endure for a year, and I’ll release you. As for the matter of heirs, it’s laughable. Pretending you’re pregnant, then locking ourselves away for ten months until the child is born and brought to your palace, calling you ‘Mother’—doesn’t that sound ridiculous?” She chuckled softly, as if amused by the absurdity. “Young master, I know you’re loyal to the Chancellor, but one wrong step can ruin a lifetime. I cannot let personal desires harm you. I am determined to win the Chancellor. By then, I fear you’ll be caught in the middle, so I ask you one last time: are you still willing to enter Changqiu Palace?”

Would every word she said in front of him reach the Chancellor’s ears? She needed someone like this—someone who might defect, or at least someone she could warn upfront, so she could act decisively if necessary.

Asking whether he was willing seemed redundant. If he refused, how could the Chancellor allow him to live? This path had to be walked, willingly or not. However, she had arranged an alternative route for him. As long as he avoided returning to the capital and didn’t leak information, he could retreat unscathed, living safely for the rest of his life.

The wind blew the bamboo curtain, tapping rhythmically against the carriage door. Nie Lingjun finally stepped down from the carriage. The slender youth stood upright, facing her with an air of dignity, neither humble nor arrogant. “No one knows what the future holds. But Your Majesty’s honesty deserves my gratitude. Please rest assured—I have been taught by Lord Chancellor since childhood. All I know is loyalty to my ruler. Whatever Your Majesty commands, I will obey. If you keep me, I will stay. If you dismiss me, I will depart, never to see you again.”

For a fourteen-year-old to speak such words—it was proof of the adage that great teachers produce outstanding students. Fú Wēi found it admirable. A true hero was someone who could let go without clinging unnecessarily.

“In a few days, during the court session, I will announce publicly that you will be crowned empress. Afterward, it will require some effort on your part. Fortunately, your current stature won’t arouse suspicion. Once this matter concludes, aside from dealing with the Empress Dowager, you can spend your time in Changqiu Palace studying and practicing calligraphy, avoiding external guests.”

He bowed his head in agreement, his demeanor so composed that it was hard to distinguish his gender.

Fú Wēi exhaled softly. Marrying a queen consort wouldn’t affect her. The Chancellor’s opposition stemmed from his desire to dissuade her from crowning an empress. Now that she had followed his wishes, what excuse could he possibly have to withhold power?

Conquering an enemy wasn’t simple, especially someone as proud and ambitious as the Chancellor. Beyond strategizing and maneuvering, she had to endure embarrassment. Like last night—she had feigned drunkenness and kept him overnight. Though nothing happened, waking up to find themselves nestled together still made her heart race uncontrollably.

What an extraordinary experience. She would never forget the look of astonishment on his face—the most vivid expression she had ever seen. Though he tried desperately to conceal it, she noticed the trembling of his hands.

“Drinking truly causes trouble,” he muttered, adjusting his sleeves before bowing deeply. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty.”

Her expression remained calm as she pulled the loose collar of her robe, covering her exposed shoulders. “Father Chancellor, there’s no need for apologies. You’ve held me before when I was a child. Doing so again after ten years isn’t shocking, is it?” Smiling shyly, she added, “But last night was really hot—it soaked my undergarments... Are you returning home now? Or shall I send for hot water so you can wash and change before leaving?”

The Chancellor’s face darkened, and without another word, he hastily left Zhangde Hall.

She straightened her attire and stood calmly at the entrance, watching him disappear into the distance. His hurried departure carried a tinge of panic, almost like fleeing. She gazed at his retreating figure for a long time, a faint smile creeping onto her lips. She had always believed he possessed an unshakable composure, yet here he faltered. It seemed he still regarded her as a woman—perfect. If he forgot her gender entirely, that would be the most hopeless scenario.

Jiànyè brought tea and snacks, surprised to find her standing alone. “Has Lord Chancellor left the palace?”

She didn’t reply, simply instructing in a subdued voice, “Prepare several sets of clothes for the Chancellor, in case they’re needed next time.”

Setting aside her personal motives, keeping him overnight in the palace was necessary. After all, the Great Yin dynasty wasn’t purely centralized. Surrounding lords lurked like wolves, each vying for power. News of her intention to crown an empress had likely spread. At this critical juncture, some might seize the opportunity to curry favor with the Chancellor. She had to create the appearance of closeness with him to deter the lords from acting rashly. As long as they hesitated, she would have enough time to accomplish her goals. By the time the Chancellor became half-father-in-law to the throne, those unsure of the situation would continue to watch and wait.

Being an emperor wasn’t easy. Every step she took required careful deliberation. Knowing she couldn’t withstand any upheaval, she aimed to keep conflicts to a minimum. The essence of governance lay in balance. The Chancellor played a significant role in restraining the lords, so alienating him was out of the question—he had to be drawn closer.

Closer… There were no more official titles to bestow upon him. The only thing she could offer was herself.

Keeping him overnight hadn’t seemed like a monumental event to her, but the ensuing rumors caught her off guard. On the day of the court session, she had intended to issue the edict, but midway through her speech, the Grand Tutor and the Chief Astronomer prostrated themselves in the hall, claiming that the observatory had detected Mars slowly approaching and halting in the southeast. They feared impending warfare in the southeast and adamantly opposed the emperor discussing marriage in the near future.

Seated on the imperial throne, Fú Wēi was momentarily stunned. To have her own allies undermine her plans left her feeling astonished.

As for silver or gold fortunes, she placed little stock in celestial omens, trusting herself far more. During the four days of recess, she had communicated regularly with the Grand Tutor and heard no mention of better methods to promote her independent rule. Why, then, had he suddenly acted at this critical moment? What had changed?

Leaning slightly forward, she asked, “Grand Tutor... Is this anomaly in the heavens real?”

Though Fú Wēi did not believe in astrology or fate, she could not ignore the fact that the entire court did. Sitting high on her throne, she watched as officials whispered and exchanged glances among themselves. Her heart churned with barely concealed rage. Truly, the elderly were unreliable when it came to bearing great responsibilities. The Grand Tutor must have deemed a marriage alliance with the Chancellor’s household unfavorable for her and thus preferred to sabotage this union rather than let the Chancellor have his way. But did he truly understand how hard-won this opportunity was? If she missed it now, who knew when another chance would come?

The Grand Tutor’s stance was resolute. “Reporting to Your Majesty, it is indeed true. Mars, the ominous star, governs the transgressions of ministers across the land, signaling drought, famine, disease, warfare, chaos, and death. During Emperor Gāozǔ’s reign in Zhēndìng, Mars lingered for three months, resulting in rebellion in the frontier regions and turmoil within the empire. This calamity occurred only forty years ago—does Your Majesty not recall?”

It seemed there was no turning back. Fú Wēi felt utterly powerless. “If there is misfortune ahead, wouldn’t my wedding serve as an auspicious counterbalance?”

The Grand Tutor shook his head. “This is the will of heaven; man cannot oppose it.”

Fú Wēi turned her gaze toward the Chief Astronomer. “Astrologer, are you certain of your observations? Where exactly has Mars halted?”

The Chief Astronomer clasped his hands and replied hesitantly, “Reporting to Your Majesty, I personally verified last night... Mars is stationed at the Heart constellation—a dire omen.”

His words caused a stir throughout the hall. Even Fú Wēi struggled to catch her breath. In the context of Mars guarding the Heart, “Heart” referred to the Heart asterism among the twenty-eight lunar mansions, comprising three stars representing the emperor, the crown prince, and the imperial clan. When Mars—the harbinger of disaster—lingered in the Heart asterism, the most direct consequence was the emperor’s demise and the chancellor’s downfall. It was indeed an exceedingly ominous sign.

Silence fell over the court as everyone froze, eyes fixed on the throne. Fú Wēi rested her hands on her knees and exhaled deeply after a long pause. “So it seems I am destined to die.”

Immediately, the ministers rose from their seats and prostrated themselves on the ground, chanting, “Your Majesty is a benevolent ruler. Heaven hears even the whispers of the lowly. Please, Your Majesty, take heart. Mars may yet move.”

The entire hall was filled with unease. Fú Wēi’s gaze landed on the Chancellor. “Father Chancellor, if I were to truly pass away, Father Chancellor…”

Her voice trailed off. The Chancellor raised his eyes, meeting her gaze. His expression remained calm, like a vast ocean untouched by ripples.

Fú Wēi, sharp as she was, finally understood the Grand Tutor’s painstaking intentions. Throughout history, there had been nineteen recorded instances of Mars guarding the Heart, sixteen of which were fabricated and used as convenient excuses to quell political upheavals. Regardless, the celestial phenomenon itself was terrifying, at least in the eyes of the common people. When the nation faced calamity, the only recourse was to transfer the misfortune onto a ministerial scapegoat. As the head of all officials, the Chancellor was the perfect candidate.

The Grand Tutor had created an excellent opportunity for her. If she could force him to drink poison and he refrained from raising arms, he would have no choice but to perish. She carefully considered the possibility of his rebellion: first, time constraints made preparation impossible; second, defying heavenly mandate would provide future justification for anyone to execute him. Ultimately, he would lose both power and life.

Lowering her head, she smiled amidst the tension gripping the court. “Astrologer, is there any way to avert this crisis?”

Most people already knew the answer, though none dared to speak it outright. The Chief Astronomer cast a hurried glance at the Chancellor before replying, “A loyal minister must shoulder the burden for the sovereign. Only then can Great Yin overcome this calamity.”

Faced with death, who wasn’t afraid? Fú Wēi smiled at the Chancellor, who remained silent, likely calculating his next move.

The Grand Tutor stepped forward. “Your Majesty...”

Fú Wēi raised her hand slightly. “Allow me to think further. As for death, I fear it not. Such is the will of heaven. One lives as long as one is fated to.”

The entire court understood. The young emperor, still lacking full authority, must have found life meaningless. Yet, despite this, she had not seized the opportunity to overthrow the Chancellor. Clearly, the rumors were true: the relationship between the young emperor and the Chancellor was indeed tangled beyond resolution.

After the court session ended, Fú Wēi returned to Zhangde Hall, changed her attire, and prepared to attend a lecture at Bái Hǔ Guān. However, before she could step out of the palace gates, the Grand Tutor rushed into the inner sanctum.

“This is a heaven-sent opportunity! Why does Your Majesty not seize it?” The Grand Tutor was visibly agitated, his wide sleeves flapping as he gestured emphatically. “This vast empire rightfully belongs to Your Majesty. The Chancellor’s control over the court betrays the trust placed in him by the late emperor. Does Your Majesty truly wish to remain his subordinate for life?”

Fú Wēi could only pacify him with gentle words. “Teacher, your loyalty is well-known to me. However, the timing is not yet ripe. While removing the Chancellor might be easy, who will balance the power of the regional lords?”

The Grand Tutor flushed with anger, tears glistening faintly in his eyes, startling her.

“Teacher…” She felt deeply awkward. “Please sit down and calm yourself!”

The Grand Tutor gazed at her, letting out a long sigh as his sleeves drooped. “Two days ago, I received news that Your Majesty was heavily intoxicated, and the Chancellor took advantage of the situation to enter the palace. He dismissed the eunuchs and spent the entire night in Zhangde Hall. The next morning, Your Majesty stood by the window with a sorrowful expression, while the Chancellor laughed openly as he departed. It was… utterly outrageous! I entered officialdom during the Wéndì era and served through three reigns. I was entrusted by the late emperor to guide the young ruler, whom I have watched grow up. Now… when the sovereign suffers humiliation, the minister must die. Even if I am reduced to ashes, I will seek justice for Your Majesty.”

The Grand Tutor choked multiple times, his anguish evident. To him, failing to eliminate the Chancellor was unthinkable. Fú Wēi was deeply moved by his unwavering loyalty, but his information was often inaccurate. The Chancellor’s overnight stay had been out of necessity, and it was the Chancellor who had appeared sorrowful the next day, while she had laughed triumphantly behind closed doors. Perhaps because she had always been in a position of weakness, everyone immediately assumed, “The young emperor has been wronged again.” At this rate, the Chancellor’s reputation would indeed become irreparably tarnished.

Yet, she could not explain. After all, being a woman, there were things she could do but not say.

“Teacher, this matter is already past. Let us not dwell on it further. I bear the weight of the empire on my shoulders. My personal honor or disgrace holds no significance for me.” She stifled laughter to the point of tears, her sighs tinged with tremors. To the Grand Tutor, it appeared profoundly tragic.

Who could have imagined that the Son of Heaven, the ruler of millions, would find himself in such a humiliating predicament? The young emperor endured humiliation with a spirit so moving that it deserved to be inscribed in history—if only words could capture it.

Tears streamed down the Grand Tutor’s face. “Does Your Majesty not fear falling into the Chancellor’s treacherous schemes? He seeks to blur the lines between sovereign and minister, paving the way for his future usurpation of power.”

Fú Wēi’s heart trembled as she waved her hand with great difficulty. “Teacher, please say no more… no more…”

The young emperor turned away, one hand resting on a long table. Her slender figure appeared especially frail. No amount of righteous indignation from outsiders could alleviate the pain of those directly involved. The Grand Tutor had always viewed his disagreements with the Chancellor as mere differences in political views, neither harboring particular affection nor animosity toward the man. But now, this incident was nothing short of treasonous and despicable. Even a thousand cuts would not suffice as punishment. Thus, the Chancellor would forever be branded as the greatest villain in history, nailed to the pillar of shame.

The Grand Tutor gradually calmed himself, resolved that the injustice could not go unanswered. What remained was to consider how to avenge the young emperor.

“Your Majesty need not worry. Once the Chancellor is executed, his advisors will be left leaderless. We will immediately dispatch troops to command the northern and southern armies, rounding up his followers through the Imperial Guard. The capital’s defenses include the Scarlet Riders, Tiger Warriors, and Feathered Forest troops, along with the generals and attendants who can be replaced with trusted allies. Speed is paramount. By the time the regional lords realize what has happened, the capital will already be secured. At that point, with power firmly in Your Majesty’s hands, the lords will have no choice but to submit.”

But the young emperor shook her head. “The plan is sound, but the execution must be swift. A single misstep could jeopardize the entire empire.” The Grand Tutor attempted to persuade her further, but she turned around and smiled faintly. “Besides, framing others—is it truly effective? When Emperor Chéng of Hàn executed Zhái Fāngjìn as a scapegoat, it did not extend his life. If the King of Hell decrees your death at the third watch, he will not spare you until the fifth. If I am truly fated to perish, then so be it. I will blame no one. But Teacher, is the phenomenon of Mars guarding the Heart truly real? Or is it merely an excuse to prevent me from crowning the Chancellor’s adopted daughter as empress?”

The Grand Tutor’s lips drooped as he nodded gravely. “The celestial phenomena are visible to all. Even if I wished to fabricate, I lack the power to make Mars halt at the Heart asterism.”

Fú Wēi stood with her hands clasped behind her back, exhaling softly after a long pause. “It seems my fortunes are waning. I once wondered if I would live to see adulthood. Now it appears my suspicions are confirmed. How tragic.”

The Grand Tutor racked his brain to console her. “Your Majesty must not dwell on such thoughts. Mars guarding the Heart does not necessarily portend harm to the sovereign. Perhaps it signifies the Chancellor’s downfall instead—who knows?”

She smiled faintly and nodded. “Then I shall borrow your auspicious words.”

The Grand Tutor departed from the Eastern Palace, leaving Fú Wēi alone by the window. Reflecting on the possibility of her early demise, she couldn’t help but feel regret.

Perhaps the wisdom of the ancients held some truth. Looking back on her life, aside from enduring humiliation, little else remained. If she were to die tomorrow, her brief existence would leave nothing worth boasting about—no beautiful dresses worn, no vibrant rouge applied, no unrestrained laughter shared, not even a chance to claim the one she loved. Her ten years as emperor would have been lived in vain.

She stood up, circled the bronze boshan incense burner twice, then strolled leisurely to the corridor, instructing Jiànyè, “Prepare a yellow ox and a jar of fine wine. I’m going to visit the Chancellor.”

Everyone knew the legend of Mars guarding the Heart and the conventions of Great Yin regarding executions. The young emperor sending an ox and wine to the Chancellor’s residence meant that this calamity ultimately fell to the Chancellor to bear.

Jiànyè scrambled to carry out her orders, soon returning with a yellow ox. The young emperor did not ride in a carriage but mounted her horse, driving the ox herself. She swayed unsteadily as she passed through Tóng Tuó Street, taking a wide detour before ushering the ox into the Chancellor’s residence.

The Chancellor’s estate was bustling with activity. With three thousand retainers gathered, it was livelier than her own Bái Hǔ Guān. The strategists were startled to see her leading the ox inside but still bowed deeply in unison. She tilted her head, searching the crowd for a while without spotting the Chancellor. Then the Chief Secretary pushed through the throng to greet her, and she handed him the rope.

“Where is the Chancellor?”

The Chief Secretary’s hands trembled as he held the rope, bowing deeply. “Lord Chancellor is currently resting. Please wait, Your Majesty. I will announce your arrival immediately.”

She waved dismissively. “Do not disturb his rest. I will see him myself.”

Deciding to meet him, she brought along a jar of wine, blatantly seeking a scapegoat. The retainers were fiercely loyal to the Chancellor. Among the dozens present, not all were scholars—some were wandering swordsmen. If they attacked en masse, the lone young emperor would stand no chance.

The crowd grew restless, and Fú Wēi noticed it. She stopped, turned around, and pointed lightly at them. “Do not act rashly. Any reckless move will implicate the Chancellor.”

At fifteen, the young emperor was delicate and refined in appearance, yet she possessed an air of imperial majesty that commanded respect. It was the inviolable dignity of a ruler, enough to cow even the boldest souls.

While passions ran high, the advisors’ minds were not mere ornaments. They saw only the young emperor, but who knew how many imperial guards were hidden around the neighborhood? If this truly was an execution order, risking their lives would be worthwhile. But if it was a trap, they would become accomplices in framing the Chancellor, playing right into the young emperor’s hands.

Watching them retreat slowly, Fú Wēi felt a tinge of disdain. Turning her head slightly, she gestured to the Chief Secretary with a lift of her chin. “Lead the ox and show the way.”

Her folding fan fluttered lightly, sending strands of hair flying. She adjusted her layered robes and strode confidently up the steps, entering the Chancellor’s inner courtyard with bold, purposeful strides.